Never break the Chain
by Sevi007
Summary: After all he has known as home and family is gone, Kraglin suddenly feels out of place, not knowing what to do with himself. Clinging to the past and trying to find his place in the present, he slowly comes to realize that perhaps, just perhaps, he is not all alone in this universe. There are still those who would give him a home... If he would just let them. (Spoilers for GotG 2)


**1\. Still trying to get the hand of these characters, especially Kraglin, Yondu and Peter.  
2\. No idea how to write the slang the Ravagers talk in.  
3\. Probably a tad OOC.  
4\. Trigger Warning for emotophobia in the first chapter.**

* * *

"And you are _sure_ you want to go through with it."

"Rocket," Kraglin said, tired because of how many times he had already heard that question. "Ain't ever been so sure 'bout something before, a'right?"

Rocket made a face at him, showing clearly that he was not completely convinced, but thankfully, he pulled back and disappeared from Kraglin's sight.

He hadn't been the only one to try and talk Kraglin out of it. Groot had looked at him with wide, worried eyes, all but clinging to his leg as they had entered the doctor's praxis. Gamora had reminded him that he did not need to do this out of a sense of responsibility (he didn't, he had assured her – he _wanted_ this). Even Mantis, although not yet very close to him, had pointed out that everyone was deeply worried about him, causing her to wonder if his endeavor could be too dangerous.

Kraglin had listened, nodded, and proceeded to ignore all well-meant ifs and buts. This was _his_ decision to make, and no matter how fond he had already grown of the colorful bunch that called themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy – he wouldn't let them interfere on this.

The ones who had kept quiet, accepting his decision without a fuss, had been Peter and, surprisingly enough, Drax. Kraglin knew that Peter understood why he had chosen this, but why Drax hadn't pressured him to overthink, he didn't know.

Something clanked next to his cot, distracting him from his musings, and he heard a surprised and slightly embarrassed "I am Groot!" float up to him, making him smile.

None of the Guardians was making any move to leave him here alone, clearly insisting on staying until the procedure started. He could hear them around him, speaking in hushed voices – alright, Rocket wasn't very hushed – and steps audible from where they walked around the room, nervous energy making them restless.

It wasn't making any of this easier, his nerves starting to flutter, too. If only the doctor could start already, get it over with.

"Kraglin," a warm hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Well, with _this_ little pest he could deal, Kraglin thought with a snort. "Don't'cha start tryin' to convince me to stop now, too, Pete."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Peter answered, cheeky grin coming into sight as he leaned over the former Ravager. "Just wanted to tell you that we will watch out for you while, you know, you're out of it."

That made Kraglin take a deep breath, feeling it getting stuck in his throat around a lump that shouldn't be there. Perhaps it was a show too emotional for a Ravager (then again, he wasn't one anymore, was he) but he reached up, squeezing Peter's fingers with his own for a second. "Thanks."

"Not that for. Really," Peter's expression softened for a moment, before the grin came back full force. "Already looking forward to seeing your new look."

"Here's hope it ain't comin' with a muddled brain on top," Kraglin tried to joke, feeling his smile go crooked at the thought alone.

"Gentlemen," that was the soft voice of the doc – some kind of neurosurgeon – piping up behind Peter. "We would be ready to start now, if the patient is so inclined."

Kraglin felt Peter's grip tighten around his shoulder, blue eyes searching for his, and he swallowed once before answering steadily, "'M good to go, doc."

Peter nodded at him, pulling back enough to turn towards the doctor. "We will be right in front of the door."

There was cold steel in Peter's voice despite his friendly smile, and Kraglin was pretty sure that, even though he couldn't see it, the boy's – _man's_ – eyes were burning with intensity.

Really now, threatening the guy who was about to mess around in Kraglin's brain _probably_ wasn't a good idea, but Kraglin couldn't help the rush of gratitude travelling through him. He masked it with a dry comment, "Oh, get outta here, kid, you ain't threatenin' at all."

"Well, it was worth the try," Peter flashed him a grin, making Kraglin snort and forget about his nerves for a moment.

"Quill may not be threatening," Drax spoke up from somewhere on Kraglin's left, voice even but gravelly. "But we can be."

"Big guy has a point," Rocket agreed, voice sharp. "Better not mess that Mohawk over there up, doc."

"I am _Groot!"_ The tiny, insistent voice shouldn't have been threatening, but since Kraglin had heard about Groot throwing a grown man into his death, he was not going to deny the little tree some intimidating abilities.

"There _really_ is no reason for any threats whatsoever!" The doctor tried to sound more angry and exasperated than anything else, but years of experience let Kraglin catch the slight tremor of fear underneath. "I have already informed about the risks and the possible complications, disagreeing with the choice of going through with the procedure. Now there is no more than I can do!"

"You can do a _good job._ "

"Of course I will give my very best, but the chances of success are…"

"I really don' need ta hear that again," Kraglin muttered to no one in particular.

Gratefully, Gamora at least seemed to hear him, or at least understand what he felt. She appeared next to Peter, Groot sitting securely in the crook of her arm as she put a hand on Peter's shoulder, offering Kraglin a small smile. "I think it is time for us to go and let the surgery take place."

"Right!" Peter cleared his throat, patting Kraglin's shoulder one last time – and heck, he looked just as nervous as Kraglin felt, it nearly made him laugh aloud – before waving to the other Guardians. "Let's go, guys. See you soon, Krags."

"Just don't come back with an all mushy brain," Rocket offered before turning towards the door.

"I am sure that he would not survive if his brain was turned to mush," Drax wondered aloud as he headed after the thug.

Peter followed them while rolling his eyes, all but pushing and dragging them out of the room, "Okayyy, guys, enough with the motivating words!"

"Like you're any better-…!"

"Out now, you trash panda."

 _Loud bunch of crazy people,_ Kraglin made a face after them before directing his gaze towards Gamora and Groot, the last ones staying behind.

Gamora seemed to hesitate for a split-second, before her eyes softened as she carefully reached down to touch Kraglin's arm. "It will surely turn out alright. We had worse chances of success when saving the galaxy twice."

Kraglin offered her a weak, but honest smile. "At least _ye_ know how to reassure others."

"Oh, the others know, too. They are just not very good at showing it," Gamora's eyes were smiling as she squeezed his upper arm before letting go.

Groot on her arm crooned quietly, eyes still big and worried. "I am Groot."

"I will be 'kay, buddy," Kraglin assured him. "No worries."

It seemed to ease at least some of the little tree's worries, since his frown eased a tad, but he still looked over Gamora's shoulder as they left, waving sadly in the Ravager's direction.

Kraglin waved back faintly, smiling crookedly until the door fell closed behind them. Only then did he allow himself to drop his smile and gulp loudly, trying and failing to swallow the last bit of fear.

The doctor bustled over to him, wringing his hands together. There was a mask over the lower half of his face now, some kind of googles sitting on his forehead, and the table with surgical instruments was pushed closer by one of the nurses under loud rattling of metall.

"Sir, with all due respect, I will still have to warn you…," the little, elderly man began, but Kraglin wouldn't let him finish. He had heard it often enough already.

"No. We're doin' this, right _now_."

A pause, then a sigh. "Very well. I will first give you an anesthetic that will put you to sleep in a few moments. Should you feel sick or uncomfortable during that time span, or react otherwise negatively to it…"

"I'm not gonna."

"… then you are supposed to tell us as much immediately, and we will cancel the surgery for the time being," the doctor just ignored his comment, fixing a needle as he was talking.

Hovering over Kraglin's outstretched arm, needle resting just on the bare skin, he stopped, looking up at the younger man. "How are you feeling right now?"

 _I'm 'bout to have my skull cracked open, I feel friggin' great of course._

"Never been better, doc," he said aloud.

"Very well."

The needle penetrated his skin, nothing more than a slight pressure and some itching, and then it was gone again. It would be only moments from now until he would fall asleep, and either he would wake up again… or he wouldn't.

Here was hoping that he would be lucky just this once.

Sighing, Kraglin leaned back, making himself as comfortable as he could get on the small cot he had been given. He could already feel a certain sleepiness settle in, but it didn't stop him from making one last dry comment,

"Okay, let's do this."

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* * *

He _did_ wake up again.

He just wished he hadn't.

There were a lot of unpleasant things he had gone through in his life. Injuries, illnesses, hangovers – someone named one, Kraglin made them a list of when and where he had had it. One would think he had seen it all.

But nothing, absolutely nothing had prepared him for this amount of pain and helplessness.

One moment he was floating, then falling, then he was just suddenly _there_ without any recollection if he had woken up - had he been asleep? - or if he just hadn't been aware of his surroundings up until now. He was gasping, lungs grasping for air that wouldn't come, and a wail started to build in his throat as he snapped his eyes open and suddenly _was._

He couldn't feel his body from his chest downwards, only being aware of his head that seemed to be exploding any moment, and a faint squeezing in what he thought was his throat… he wasn't sure about that.

All of his senses seemed to be thrown for a loop. The feeling of touch was gone, noises were too loud, he wasn't sure if he was hot or cold or both. The room was spinning and bright colors were periodically bursting in front of his eyes, not really helping the pain that pounded behind his eyes and forehead. It honestly felt as if someone had split open his skull and rammed a sharp edge into it…

(Which, well, basically had happened.)

Kraglin wouldn't have moved – couldn't have – with his head apparently being filled with lead and his body feeling as if it didn't really belong to him anymore. But there was a pressure building in his chest and throat that he faintly recognized, and he groaned and fought to sit up (apparently he had been lying down) before he could stop it, instincts taking over.

"Hey, wow, slowly, buddy!"

The voice was too loud, but Kraglin didn't even manage a protest against it, only a pained, pathetic groan.

Hands reached for him, gripping his shoulders, making him realize that he still _had_ those. Huh. Neat.

But that didn't help his current predicament. The pressure was building, rising, and his throat was burning.

"Kraglin, you need to lie back down…"

"You can't get up yet!"

"Shit, I told him that's a horrible idea, he shouldn't have…!"

"Not now, Rocket! Seriously?!"

"Can't start chiding him soon enough, that a-hole!"

"You can do that when he _isn't dying!"_

Too loud, too much, and they were holding him down when he wanted to sit up and he had to…

Kraglin groaned, long and suffering, pain lacing up and down his neck and back. That at least seemed to attract some attention to him – just at the right moment, because he started retching before he could get out a word of warning.

"SHIT!"

Somebody shrieked, somebody cussed loudly, there was hasty movement behind the colors obscuring his vision and the scent of metal tickled his numbed sense of smell as something was shoved underneath his nose, but Kraglin didn't really care. Somebody steadied him by his arm as he fell forward, vomiting his stomach up it felt like. Heaves tore through his chest and throat, sending searing, blinding flashes of pain over his already hurting head.

Each heave of his stomach sent another wave of pain with it, and in the span of seconds, Kraglin was near tears from the pain. He let out a garbled sound when there was nothing left to vomit, wanting to say either _"Hurts"_ , or " _Stop, please",_ but he didn't manage either.

Around him, the voices grow loud again."

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit, _fucking shit!"_

"That's it, I'm gonna fucking shoot that doctor, lemme go back…!"

"You're not going to shoot anybody, Rocket!"

"I shouldn't have let him do that, shit, shit, that's my fault…!"

"Calm _down_ , Peter!"

"Kraglin? Kraglin, it's going to be okay, _breathe…!"_

The retching finally, finally stopped, and it would have been a blessing, if not for the fact that the pain hadn't lessened. Kraglin was panting and whimpering, feeling like one big spot of pain, pain, _pain._

"Kraglin?" Something pressed against his temples – hands, he faintly recognized. Shivering, but still grounding him. "Kraglin."

"Hurts," finally, he found his voice again, but he didn't even recognize it. It sounded weak and hoarse, broken into something that was not his.

"I'm so sorry. Kraglin, I'm so sorry."

"Peter, that's not your fault," another voice, from above, but Kraglin didn't recognize that, either.

"I let you do that, I… _shit."_

Something about the whole conversation irked Kraglin, something he needed a moment to grasp because he was hurting and tired and couldn't even see straight. But still…

"…M-Mine," it was difficult to form the words with his hurting throat and his numb tongue, but he was determined to do so. "M-My… my d-decision."

There was a pause that seemed to stretch infinitely, before he more felt than heard a fond little laugh travel through him. The colors following the headache blinked out of existence for a moment, long enough that Kraglin could blearily make out a pair of blue eyes, twinkling with fondness. "Stubborn git."

It hurt like a bitch to do so, but Kraglin bared his teeth in a grin, feeling like crying and laughing all at once. "It work'd… yea?"

"Can we like, talk about that when you're _not_ vomiting over my shoes?"

He wasn't satisfied with that, not at all – he had undertaken such lengths to do this, he needed to know – but he was in no real position to protest. "…'kay."

"Peter? Peter, I could try and take some of his pain away."

Kraglin couldn't recognize the soft voice coming from beyond his limited view, but he felt the calming, grounding hands vanish from his face, almost toppling over when he tried to follow them.

"Okay. Okay, Mantis, if you're okay with that, then…"

"Let me try it."

A new touch came, soft and cool on his hurting and burning forehead, and he felt himself give a rasped sigh as the coolness swept into his head. It was like water washing over the fire of pain, soothing the feeling of ragged edges cutting through his head and squeezing his throat.

When the touch vanished again, Kraglin felt considerably better, even though still in pain, and bone tired on top of it, too.

"That's all… I can do for now, I think."

"You okay, Mantis?"

"I am just tired. There is a lot of pain, I can't take all of it…"

"You did great. Thank you very much."

"I think," somebody said, right next to Kraglin, warm hand landing on his shoulder. "He's falling asleep again."

Kraglin wanted to protest, although he was already unable to keep his eyes open. He still wanted to know if the surgery had been met with success (it better be that way, seeing in how much pain he was for it). He still wanted to say _Thank you_ for them being there, doing this for him, staying when they didn't had to stay.

But just like his eyes refused to stay open, his mouth refused to do as he wanted, and couldn't protest one bit when he was gently guided back into a soft surface – pillows, his scrambled brain managed to process – and somebody above him said, "It's okay, Krags. We will talk later."

At least they had understood that there were things he wanted to say, Kraglin's last conscious thought was. That was a good start.

He was out like a light before he could think about it more, darkness swallowing up thoughts as well as pain.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* * *

From this point onward, Kraglin couldn't really make sense of his memories and impressions for a long time.

He felt like he had slept for years and yet not long enough. He was aware of waking up, jolting awake, a few times, but he wasn't always sure if it was real or not.

There was pain, and heat, and cold, and sometimes he thought he heard voices. Most of the time, there was _only_ pain. Past and present didn't make sense anymore, mingling in a colorful array so that he could not make sense of which was which.

He remembered Oblo, laughing good-naturedly at him over a cup full of cheap ale that tasted horribly as Kraglin defended himself for listening to Peter's music again—

He remembered Gamora, standing over him, dabbing his sweat-dampened forehead with a cool, wet rag. "I promise you, Kraglin, you will make it. One fever won't be enough to end you."—

He remembered Tullk, face turning blue as he slowly suffocated in space, frozen, while Kraglin stayed behind, safe and yet unsafe behind the airlock, amidst a group of mutineers who howled and laughed at his – _their former_ – friends dying a horrible death—

He remembered Groot, cooing worriedly, little wooden hands pressing against the tattoos covering his neck, trying to sooth him as he shivered and twitched through the painful sparks racing from his head down his spine—

He remembered Peter, still a child, grinning up at him as they hid from the officers the boy had attracted with his clumsy first try at pickpocketing, and really now, Kraglin shouldn't have been fighting to suppress a loud laugh, but he _was,_ and Peter's embarrassed grin didn't help matters at all—

He remembered Rocket, batting his searching hands away from his own head – he needed to rip it out, it hurt too much, the damn edge splitting his brain - with quick paws, cussing at him. "Will you stay _still_ , I'm not letting you touch that, you moron. Drax, get over here and help me!" —

The latest memory was the clearest. He was back on the _Eclector,_ standing in front of the most colorfully decorated control console on the whole damn spaceship, smile already threatening to break through as he took in the familiar trinkets wiping gently in tune with the slight vibrations of the ship's engines.

Yondu grinned back at him with glittering silver teeth, lazily lounging in his seat opposite of Kraglin, letting his arrow roll and dance through his fingers with practiced ease.

And that was when Kraglin was sure that this – _this_ particular memory was set in the past, and on top of that made up entirely by his imagination.

Because the _Eclector_ had gone up in flames, and Yondu…

Yondu was gone and wouldn't come back, and that was fact, as much as it hurt.

The silver-capped smile widened.

" _Damn straight, Kraglin. An' since ye're such a smartass, tell me – how long ya wanna stay asleep for, idjit? Wake_ up."

And Kraglin, obedient as ever, woke up with a start.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* * *

The lights were entirely too bright, Kraglin observed first when he blinked blearily up at the ceiling.

Only when that thought had passed did he realize that being able to see the too-bright lights meant that he wasn't seeing weird colors anymore. And his head didn't feel like splitting apart anymore, either.

Moving gingerly, still feeling sore from his neck downwards and head heavier than before, Kraglin pushed himself up with a tiny hiss, leaning against the headboard in his back before taking a deep breath and pausing with his eyes screwed shut. Already dizziness settled in, but it was nothing compared to what he had gone through before.

Satisfied with that observation, Kraglin opened his eyes, determined to take in his surroundings.

He was back in the tiny sickbay they had set up on the _Quadrant,_ a shabby, half-empty room with only a bed and a cabinet to stash the few medical things they owned.

What was new about the room were the machines next to his bed, and, as he realized now, attached to his forearms and chest with tubes and wires. Most of the functions of those machines were unclear to the former Ravager, but one of the many screens showed a ragged line that Kraglin recognized as the beats of his own hearts, going steady and strong. The machine released an annoying beeping sound every now and then.

Well, at least that meant he was alive.

And he even had company, Kraglin thought with an exasperated yet fond huff.

Peter was sitting in a chair right next to his bed, fast asleep, hunched over. His arms were crossed on the mattress next to Kraglin's elbow, head resting on the makeshift pillow, face tilted away from the other man. The tousled state his hair was in made it look as if he had racked his hand through it multiple times, and his earphones had slipped out of his ears at one point. His mouth stood open, tiny whistles of deep, calm breathing audible.

Well, that would give the guy one hell of a backache, Kraglin concluded, even though he felt a rush of amused gratitude wash over him. Stubborn as always, Peter had obviously refused to leave him alone, even though he had been so tired that he fell asleep like that.

Something silvery, glinting caught his gaze – for a terrible second, he was reminded of a certain silver glinting smile – and as he turned, he wasn't sure if the sight made him happy or hurt or both.

There, next to Peter's left elbow, lay a rectangular little device.

The Zune.

The _freaking_ Zune.

" _What's that, Capt'n?"_

" _Some Terran shit called Zune. Can store a whole lotta more songs than that old thin' Quill uses. Sure, it's from his Momma, but boy's gonna go nuts if he always listens to the same damn songs."_

" _Ah, so you gonna give it to 'im… when?"_

" _Next time boy comes home. Ya think 'e will tear up again and say thanks or yell at me?"_

" _Knowin' the both of ye… both?"_

Yondu had laughed at that, that pointy wide grin that he so rarely showed – no malice, no threat behind it, just genuine amusement and warmth. It was a rare sight, and when it had appeared, it had mostly revolved around something that had to do with Peter.

A whole lot of what Yondu did that he usually _didn't_ do had revolved around Peter.

As if he had somehow sensed that he was part of Kraglin's thoughts, Peter snored loudly right on cue, muttering something in his sleep as he frowned and shifted and then stilled again.

Kraglin cracked a weak smile at that (and hey, it only hurt his head so much), before he grimaced slightly, wincing as he stretched and tried to reach the Zune before it could fall down from the mattress.

He only managed to touch it with his fingertips before Peter's hand twitched and then shot out, closing nearly painfully around his wrist, and the younger man's head shot up. Blue eyes flew open, straining to focus as Peter mumbled, "Wha-…?"

"Jeez, Peter, I need that wrist still," Kraglin joked, even though he could already feel himself bruise under the tight grip.

Peter's gaze focused on him, grip around the other's wrist slipping off, before he became alert again. Scrambling, the younger man sat up straighter, leaning forward to reach out for Kraglin. "Krags! How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Kraglin smiled, but he still gently pushed the hand away that reached for his face. He feared that any little thing touching his head would make it explode with pain again. "But I'll live, I guess."

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear that," Peter understood the silent plea, pulling his hand back. Instead he simply smiled at Kraglin, taking him in as if he couldn't believe his eyes that the other was really in front of him.

It made Kraglin wonder what exactly had happened while he had been out of it. He only remembered the bits and pieces, few and in between, whenever he had woken up and felt terrible.

"You were unconscious for days," Peter explained as if he had read his thoughts, eyes still wandering over Kraglin's expression, memorizing it. "Well, not completely unconscious the whole time, you woke up from time to time, but you were in a fucking horrible state, let me tell you. Burning up and then convulsing sometimes, screaming too… Scared us all to death."

The way Peter's word wavered for a moment, delighted smile replaced with something akin to sorrowful mourning, made Kraglin's stomach lurch uncomfortably. He _could_ remember some very bad episodes, vaguely and blurry, but he hadn't know all of it… especially the fact that he had _screamed_ shook him to the core. Just what had the others seen from him in the last few days?

Before he could question it or even apologize, Peter's gaze landed on the Zune that lay discarded next to him on the mattress, and he brightened, reaching for it. Holding it up, his eyes twinkling with almost childish excitement, he offered, "Want to hear some cool new songs, Kraglin?"

There was short, but strong moment of temptation, before Kraglin very, very gingerly shook his head. "Naw. Still got headache."

Peter's smile dimmed significantly. "Ah."

"Sorry," he almost felt _bad_ for refusing. Damn Quill and his easy to read expressions.

"Nah, it's okay. Just… well," Peter rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. "Sorry that you have to, you know. Be in pain."

"Still ain't yer fault," reminded him Kraglin, suddenly feeling even more tired. Really now, always worrying about others, that boy…

No, not boy. Man. Peter had grown into a man when he hadn't been looking.

"I know. I can still be sorry for you when I see you looking like shit," Peter's smile was back, faint but there.

"'M still lookin' better than ye ever will."

"Awww, I don't know, I got this natural charm, you see, sort of…"

"Sort of bein' a flat-faced spawn of the devil. Got'cha," Kraglin very nearly laughed at the put-on scowl he got for that, but stopped himself when even the mere thought of laughing sent a short, painful spark over the crown of his head. "…Ow."

Peter's smile dropped, and he fiddled with his Zune uselessly, earphones dangling between his fingers. "Can… Can I get you something? I can't give you more morphine, or other stuff, you're already high as it is, and I dunno if you can keep food down already, but some water? Or…"

"Some water woulda… would be great," Kraglin leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. His lips felt dry and itchy. "'M parched."

"On it."

Kraglin sighed, resting his head against the headboard behind him. It felt heavy, unusually difficult to hold it up for a longer period of time with the weight that had been added. From this position, he watched as Peter stood up to wander over to the sink, the sound of flowing water strangely peaceful. Peter's easy humming added only to the mix.

It was almost funny, seeing Peter so at ease with playing nurse. There had been times in the past, back on the _Eclector,_ when Peter had not even wanted to come _close_ to anything resembling a sickbay, let alone a…

Kraglin blinked, stumbling over his own process of thoughts. Suddenly, long forgotten and overlooked memories came rushing back all at once –

Peter screaming and yelling when he had to go see the doctor, more so than he had over the actual injury that had needed treating.

Peter going completely bonkers when one of the Ravagers he really, genuinely liked had been hurt and had to stay in the medical bay of the ship.

His panicked cries when he had seen Yondu or Kraglin or Oblo or someone else being seriously hurt.

The way the Ravagers had needed to learn how to give Peter injections themselves while holding him down because the boy had started howling like an animal when a doctor had tried to do it.

"Shit," the word tumbled out of Kraglin's mouth before he could think about holding it back. His eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up too fast, sending his head reeling. "Shit, Peter, you friggin' idiot!"

Peter didn't even protest, perhaps too surprised by the sudden outburst, perhaps not caring. He only glanced over his shoulder from where he was still preparing the cup of water.

"Shit," Kraglin said once more, with more emphasis this time. Shock turned to anger, and he shook his head, even though it sent a stab of pain up his neck. "I should shoot ye, ye brat."

The corner of the younger man's mouth twitched upwards, a show of amusement that made Kraglin see red. This _brat…!_

"Why this time?" Peter said it casually, as if it were an every-day-occurrence.

" _Ye're still afraid of sickness and doctors, idjit!"_

It sent another headache pounding through his temples, but heck, Kraglin couldn't help but hiss out the words.

A pause, a stretch of silence.

Then Peter cleared his throat, turning off the water supply as he turned and stepped back up to the bed, balancing the water in his hand. "Well, yeah. No big deal, though. Here you go."

"No big…! Don' give me _shit,_ Pete," Kraglin swatted at the cup, and only Peter's quick reflexes saved it from toppling and spilling. "Ye're afraid of doctors an' bein' sick, as ye were as a brat, and yet ye still found a surgeon for me, yet ye're still _here_ , still playin' nurse, an'…."

Blue eyes looked at him, full of patience, and…

If it had been one of the Guardians… if it had been Yondu,… if it had been _anyone,_ heck, he would have understood, because when Peter Quill loved, then he loved with abandon and nothing would stop him from going through hell and back for those important to him, no matter what big words of "I don't care" he spouted usually.

But _Kraglin?_

Kraglin's voice broke as he failed to understand. " _Why_ , Peter?"

Peter stared back at him, that (damned, _familiar_ ) stubborn glint in his eyes, before he sighed deeply, deflating a bit. With a shake of his head, the younger put the cup of water down on the little table next to the bed and took a seat on the chair again.

Kraglin waited, patient and yet near to yelling, as Peter rubbed one hand over his neck, then stared at the ceiling, then at the ground again.

Finally, finally, Peter spoke, except it wasn't what Kraglin had expected to hear.

"I didn't hold my Mum's hand the last time she asked me to."

Blinking, Kraglin tried to say something, point out that this was not what he had asked, but the wary, tired glance Peter gave him made him shut up.

There was more to come, the crease between Peter's brows made that quite clear.

And on cue, the younger added, gaze drifting to the ceiling once more as if he couldn't stand to meet Kraglin's gaze, "I didn't realize that the Dad I had been looking for all my life had been right there all this time."

That felt like a punch to the gut, and Kraglin closed his eyes against the flood of memories for a moment – Peter and Yondu arguing loudly before both turned away and downright sulked, Yondu yelling himself hoarse after Peter had been put into danger accidentally, Peter turning and searching for Yondu to see if he approved, Yondu loud guffaws after Peter had proudly presented him his very first self-stolen thing…

Those moments had been few and rare, but Kraglin had almost every time been there to see them, and sometimes… sometimes he wondered how Yondu and Peter had not seen what had been right in front of them for such a long time.

"What I'm trying to say here is…I'm not really _good_ to my family, Kraglin. Haven't been up until now, I mean," Peter's smile was more of a grimace as Kraglin looked at him again. A mask that would keep him from breaking down completely. "I'm always a bit too late, a bit too… too selfish, perhaps. I want to do better from now on. So… if I can help you, or take care of you, then I'm going to fucking do that. And if I need to jump over my shadow for that – heck, see me jumping, dude, 'cause that's _exactly_ what I'm going to do."

Taking a moment to let the words sink in, Kraglin tried to get his reeling mind under control again, meeting Peter's determined gaze with a wavering one of his own. Not only had confident loudmouth Peter Quill, with a heart bigger than the galaxy and softer than any Ravager should be, just told him that he felt as if he had done _wrong…_

He had also indirectly said that Kraglin was family.

(That shouldn't have been as confusing and wonderful as it was.)

And finally, the only thing that came to his mind, the one thing that seemed important and secure was, "You ain't selfish."

There was a perplexed pause, before the corner of Peter's mouth twitched upwards. For a moment it seemed as if the younger would want to tease him about the fact that, of all things, he would concentrate on that, but the moment passed unused, and Peter's expression softened. "That's… thank you, Kraglin."

"Eh," slightly embarrassed by his own urge to blurt out with it, Kraglin shrugged, grinning. "No big deal, as ye said."

"Right," Peter snorted good-naturedly, before he reached over, handing Kraglin the cup of water that had been forgotten for a moment. "Go ahead, man, you must be dying for some water."

"I'd go with booze, ye know."

"I would give it to you, probably, but then Gamora would skin me alive."

"Would pay money to see that," Kraglin flashed a weak smile at Peter's childishly stuck-out tongue and settled for taking careful little sips, actually closing his eyes to savor the feeling for a moment. The water soothed the dry ache in his throat and honestly, he didn't really care if it wasn't booze right now, as long as it felt this good.

Peter took the empty cup back once he was done, turning to put it back onto the table.

He looked back just in time to see Kraglin gingerly reaching up, aiming for his head, and tutted, "Nope, hands off, buddy."

Kraglin shot him a look, scoffing. "Givin' out orders, Pete?"

"Yep, if you try and touch that, I will. According to the Doc and Rocket – who, by the way, almost shot said Doc for you – you're not supposed to touch it or shake it in any way for at least a week."

"How long 've I been out again?"

"Not a week."

"Well fuck," Kraglin felt the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself as Peter laughed at his choice of words, but still waved into the younger's direction. "At least gimme a friggin' mirror, then."

Kraglin used the time Peter needed to get up and go and get that mirror to brace himself. Obviously, the-… _it_ being there, successfully implanted in his head, didn't mean that all had gone well. He would still need to test it, see if he could use it, and there could be aftereffects from the surgery, the Doc had said, but still…

Still, he needed to _see._

"Here," Peter said as he sat back down next to him, this time sitting onto the mattress, moving closer into Kraglin's personal space. The mirror he handed him was a simple disc with a polished surface, without a frame or anything, but it would do. "And let me just say from the beginning, I think you look awesome, hands down."

"Lemme decide that for myself, why don't'cha," Kraglin steeled himself, telling himself how ridiculous he was being, before he lifted the mirror and tilted it until he could see his face well enough.

At first, there was nothing unusual. He was a bit paler than he was used to, his scruff had turned into a short beard in the time he had been unconscious, but that wasn't that special. With another deep breath, he lifted the mirror higher, just a bit, until…

The first flash of red metal came into view, and Kraglin's throat constricted violently, making him blink as tears threatened to spill in the blink of an eye.

It was… was… perfect enough to make him look at it and feel terrible.

Kraglin gulped, fighting the tears, feeling his hands shake as he tilted the mirror further, taking it all in.

He lost the fight horribly.

It was too emotional for a Ravager, far too much, he knew very well, could hear the warning snarl of _"Sentiments!"_ in his memories...

But still, Kraglin didn't protest when Peter carefully laid an arm around his shoulders in comfort, rubbing his shoulder, murmuring something soothing as silent tears streamed down Kraglin's face.

Tears that blurred his sight as he tried to take in the reflection of himself with his new prosthetic fin.

It wasn't the same fin Yondu had been wearing before dy-… before going to Ego's planet. Although Kraglin had partly helped designing this one, since he had helped Yondu making that prototype fin long ago, it had been Rocket who had taken over the finishing touches. The resulting fin was of the same basic structure and approximately the same form, but it was just a tad smaller and slimmer than the one that had been lost with the Captain. After all, Rocket had explained impatiently, Kraglin's bone structure was different from that of a Centaurian, so they had to improvise a bit.

Kraglin sniffled, fingers itching to trace the metal application that travelled from the top of his forehead over the crown of his head down to his neck, right where once his Mohawk had been. He wanted to see if it _really_ was part of him, if it would glow if he wished so, if it would fly the arrow – _Capt'n's arrow…_

But he managed to hold his hand still with some trouble, remembering what Peter had said. No touching.

"See?" Peter's voice was still soothing and soft, understanding smile edged onto his face even though his eyes were watery, too, Kraglin could see. "I would say you're _almost_ as pretty as an angel."

Kraglin couldn't help it – he laughed, mixed with a sob, and rubbed over his still tearing eyes. His voice caught on every word as he fought to speak, "Sure as hell ain't one, Peter."

"Would never say so, Krags," the smile widened into a toothy grin, accompanied with a wink.

The last cheeky grin – so much like the boy the other once had been, and so much like Yondu – was what did it.

Kraglin reached over with one arm, the other hand still gripping the mirror tightly, and hugged Peter with as much strength as he had right now. He all but buried his wet face against the younger's shoulder, feeling warm hands rub up and down his back.

"Thank you," he managed, although his voice wanted to break – he needed to say this, to repay the days, _weeks_ the others had spent to help him search for a way to _get this,_ find this last possible connection to what had been lost. " _Thank you."_

Fingers twitched against his back and then gripped onto him tightly, pressing him further against Peter, and the younger man's voice sounded almost as cloaked as Kraglin's own as he replied, "Anytime, Kraglin. Anytime."

And Kraglin… for once, he didn't care about the short show of feelings.

All he cared about was the jumbled thought of _Wonder what Capt'n would've thought about it._


End file.
